A/N- Sorry it took so long to get this up. Enjoy.
Rusty tried to look nonchalant as he answered Sharon.
"Call 911 first, then call you."
"Mm." She smiled and hugged him before vanishing out the door.
Rusty cautiously- quietly- turned back towards Flynn. The man was still sitting on the sofa in his green robe, literally twiddling his thumbs. It wasn't like Rusty was seriously worried about having to call 911, but. . .
He couldn't imagine what he would tell Sharon if something happened.
Hey Mom, so I'm calling you from the back of an ambulance. . .
Sharon? Yeah, um, so you said to call you second. . .
Uh. . .
He was just praying Flynn didn't keel over.
"Hey, kid?"
Flynn almost never called him by name. It didn't bother Rusty, though. As far as he could remember, everyone in Sharon's squad except Buzz and Amy called him 'kid.' It wasn't derogatory or meant to make him feel junior to them. It just was.
"Yeah?"
"What are your plans for the day?"
"Uh, Slider's attourney is coming by, but that's about it."
"Okay. Sounds good."
Rusty nodded. "I'm just going to, uh, work on some stuff on my laptop. I'll have my headphones in, but just call if you need anything." He suddenly remembered the earbuds were in his room. "I'm just going to go grab them."
"I'm not an invalid," Flynn called as Rusty walked away.
"Sure thing, Lieutenant," Rusty replied. True to his word, he went straight to the desk in his room and pulled his headphones out. Before leaving, he took a moment to look around.
He was still sleeping on the sofa. It wasn't that bad; it was actually pretty comfortable, but it was strange. It felt like his bed was having an affair, which he supposed wasn't altogether incorrect.
He didn't mind having Flynn over for a semi-permeant sleepover. It was nice to have someone else for Sharon to pick on. With all the medical stuff Flynn had going on, she was slightly less organized, so she couldn't keep tabs on literally everything that ever happened. Rusty was relieved. Not that he was tired of living with Sharon- far from it- it was just nice not to have cops constantly hovering over him. Though Andrea Hobbs and Judge Grove were fast replacing Sharon in the hovering category.
It was just strange. Sharon still slept by herself in her room, Flynn was in her former guest room, and Rusty was on the sofa. He wasn't sure if she was trying to keep herself so disconnected for his benefit or hers.
He hoped he wasn't keeping her back. Yeah, it was weird, seeing her. . . in a relationship with someone, but it wasn't altogether unexpected. That's what people did. He knew that well enough from watching his other mother.
He also hoped that she wasn't holding herself back. That seemed like the more likely option, though. No one had said it- though Provenza came close- but Jack had really done a number on her.
The last time Jack came around, he had completely screwed her over. Again. From the snippets she had said about her past, Jack had just continually used her and left her. Not that she phrased it like that, but it was obvious.
Rusty didn't understand it. Not really. How could someone as smart and level-headed as Sharon let another person walk all over them? Even if she had once loved him, there was a limit, wasn't there?
She had paid for Jack's college, and he had gotten her pregnant. She ran the household and he lost all of her money and then some more. Then he had left.
Rusty didn't get why she didn't shut him out then. He remembered her saying something a few years before about finances, and Catholicism, and love. . . but honestly. There hadn't been any love lost in the murder room the previous week.
From what he'd gleaned from the team, there had been decades worth of back and forth, of Jack returning and Sharon letting him, and then him leaving her behind.
He didn't think Flynn would do that. Even if he was physically able- Rusty snorted- he didn't seem like that kind of guy.
He glanced around the rom as he walked out. It looked the same as always. There was a suit draped over the desk chair, and a small suitcase open on the overlarge footstool. It was clearly Flynn's. There were ties and neatly folded dress shirts, and a toiletry bag on top, but that was the only sign of the man's presence.
When he stepped back into the hallway, he could hear Flynn snoring softly. Rusty paused.
He chewed on his lip. It was okay, right? Sort of. Well, not really, but it had the right intent. Sort of.
Sometimes Sharon asked him to do a sweep of the condo looking for any dirty dishes that had been squirreled away somewhere. Usually, she meant please get the dish from your midnight snack out of your room so I can wash it, but it nearly as often meant I also have an old tea mug in my room, could you grab it, too?
Rusty made his move. There weren't any dishes in his room, and Sharon's door was open already. It wasn't an invasion of privacy or anything, really.
The room was so Sharon.
There were no clothes laying around. There was one pair of heels by the dresser, but that was it. The blinds were open, letting sunlight stream in, and the bed was so neatly made Rusty was fairly sure he could bounce coins off the yellow coverlet.
Rusty looked away and walked to the nightstand on Sharon's side of the bed. He didn't know why she had bought two stands and lamps when she only slept on the right side. He knew that because that's were her leftover mugs always were.
She'd clearly kept both tables because she used them. They were both cluttered with files and papers. Occasionally her laptop and a book or two made it onto the tabletops. They seemed to be the one place messiness was tolerated.
He had laughed at her once, because he'd found three mugs on the nightstands after a week where she had been exceedingly busy. There had been a couple precarious stacks of manilla folders, both her personal laptop and the work one, artist sketches, sticky notes, multiple pens, and her spare glasses in the midst.
Sure enough, this time she'd left a mug on top of a paperback novel. He grabbed the cup and glanced at the cover. A Ring of Endless Light. He didn't know it. There was a brochure poking out of it for something called Hemochron.
He stepped back into the hallway, half closing the door behind himself. On one hand, he felt bad for having gone on an unauthorized recon of Sharon's room, but on the other, the relief he felt at seeing just Sharon's things in her room far outweighed any other feelings.
She probably would have told him the truth if he'd asked, but. . . there was just always that seed of doubt when it came to his mothers' relationships. The fundamental wrongness of so many of Sharon Beck's boyfriends had scarred him in some sense. There was just some primal fear involved with knowing his mom was, like, with someone. It always signaled upheaval: a move, new rules, new friends, new circumstances.
At least, that's what Dr. Joe said.
He sighed.
Sharon, his Sharon, Sharon Raydor had promised that she would always tell him the truth. If nothing else, she would be honest.
He felt bad for having snooped, but not hugely so. He didn't go through anyone's things, he just retrieved his earbuds and Sharon's mug. It was something that could have happened normally.
He sighed and made a promise to himself.
If you have any more questions, just ask Sharon. She wants you to be here; she'll tell the truth.
He remembered one of their first conversations about honesty, more than three years before. He had still been camped out on her sofa, and she was sitting awkwardly on the edge of the coffee table, looking like a stranger in her own home. He was angry with her, angry with the world, really.
"Rusty, I am doing everything I can to look for your mother."
"How am I supposed to know if you're actually telling the truth, Captain?"
She looked pained. "I can't really prove that to you. You have to trust me."
He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. That's what everybody says."
She sighed. "What can I do you make you believe me?"
"You could actually, like, find her."
She stood, and in a single, sharp motion, jerked her gun and her badge off her hip. For one terrifying moment, he had the irrational fear that she had snapped. Then he realized she was merely separating herself from the Captain. It was something subtle he had been noticing.
Sharon was separate from Captain Raydor. They were both uncomfortable with him, both sticklers for the rules, but Sharon was slightly softer. She was more like an actual human being.
She sighed again. "I'll be right back, okay? Think about what you'd like for dinner." She vanished into the hallway, and he heard her bedroom door open and click shut.
He got up and wandered into the kitchen to look through her fridge. There was some milk- normal for him and almond for her- vegetables, a tupperware of leftover pasta, and a few other assorted items. He stared into the fridge. He knew how to make chicken alfredo; it was one of the very few things his mother had taught him.
He chewed on his lip. He didn't want Captain Raydor to think he was sucking up for getting angry with her, and he certainly didn't want her to think he liked her, but he was kind of hungry, and cooking dinner would be faster than ordering out.
He grabbed the pasta, a chicken breast that was behind the milk, and the little jar of minced garlic in the fridge door. He didn't see any Ragu, but he was pretty sure she had bought some the other day.
He was already boiling water and chopping chicken by the time Captain Raydor reemerged from her room. She was in jeans and a tee shirt, hair pinned out of her face, and her dark work makeup gone. She looked younger and kinder, but he supposed anyone would when they took their armor off.
"Oh." She sounded surprised. "You didn't-"
"I just wanted to. Is it okay?" He didn't know why he was bothering to ask.
"Yes, it's fine. I just. . . " She trailed off. "Thank you."
"Yeah," he mumbled. After a moment of silence he spoke again. "Do you have any Ragu?"
"Mm, I think so." She glanced over his shoulder. "We have time to make a sauce, though." She smiled at him when he looked back at her. "It's not hard, trust me."
"Okay." He didn't know if she was a good cook or not. She sounded like she knew what she was doing, but previously, she'd only ever reheated leftover takeout or made something simple. "You're sure?"
"Mhmm. I did cook for my kids every once in a while, believe it or not. I'm sorry we've had to get take-out so often since you've been here."
"It's okay." He was pretty used to it.
They worked quietly. He could hear music playing softly in the living room; she must have put a CD on.
Somehow, everything managed to finish cooking around the same time. Sharon had stepped away to get plates, and the sauce was starting to boil when he looked over at it. He picked up her spatula and stirred it gingerly.
"Here." She had swept up behind him and reached past to turn the stove off. One hand rested lightly on his shoulder. He tried not to tense. She probably hadn't even noticed that she'd touched him. It seemed very natural to her. "That looks gorgeous."
She passed him a plate and a fork. As he served himself, she leaned against the fridge with her own plate, watching.
"Rusty."
"Yeah?" He glanced over.
She raised an eyebrow. "Look what we accomplished together. I'd say this is an accomplishment, mm?"
He shrugged. "I guess."
"All we had to do was trust each other."
He rolled his eyes and did a poor job suppressing a grin. "Does everything have to be educational?"
She laughed. "Go eat."
They had come a long way since that first dinner. They both trusted each other not to burn the kitchen down in the other's absence. Rusty hadn't been a great cook to begin with, and Sharon had a limited array of dishes, most of them holiday-related.
At least Flynn was pretty good at cooking. Dinner was suddenly becoming varied. Flynn had fed them eggplant parmesan the other night, and Rusty had been on his second helping before Sharon had finally started laughing and revealed he was eating vegetables.
They were good for each other, he realized. Flynn helped Sharon decompress, partially because the older man was a cop, too, and partially because he provided support where Rusty couldn't.
That didn't mean they didn't fight. They'd never had a shouting match and things had never been thrown- Rusty supposed Sharon was too mature for that- but there had been nights where Flynn and Sharon would bicker about something. It was usually pretty dumb, like Flynn wanted to buy the groceries when he cooked because Sharon shouldn't have to do all the shopping, or Sharon trying to force Flynn to actually take his pain medication.
But nothing bad had happened.
Rusty set the dirty tea cup in the sink and looked back at Flynn, asleep on the sofa.
It was a process, he supposed. He wasn't going to magically trust Flynn. Flynn wasn't going to win him over with a single move. Which was okay. It was normal to move slowly.
He had seen it in Sharon, heard it in Provenza's stories. Apparently, when Sharon had first joined Major Crimes, the day before Rusty did, she had been universally regarded at the devil, Satan incarnate. With good reason, Provenza had said.
He had watched it as she slowly won the team over, slowly became one of the guys in blue alongside Sykes. After that, Flynn had slowly won her over, going from enemy to colleague, and finally graduating to friendship.
Trust was time-consuming.
Trust is time-consuming, Rusty realized.
He sighed as he watched Flynn on the sofa. The man snored faintly, he noticed, rather like Sharon did.
Maybe, just maybe, it was time to let go.
Let go of his fear of long-term commitments.
Let go of his weirdly complicated distrust of Flynn.
Let go of his Sharons. Both of them.
His mother was essentially gone. For all intents and purposes, she wasn't coming back. Maybe she'd eventually get out of jail, but he knew she wasn't going to come back to him. After all the words said, he was sort of okay with that.
He'd miss her, sure. She was his mom, his mom mom. But things had been said, truths aired that weren't going away.
He had to let go of Sharon, too. His mom. His real, blood of the covenant mom. She was an adult who had her own life experiences and could make her own choices.
It had taken him a long time to come to that realization, that he wasn't the only one in the world capable of making okay decisions. She would tell him everything he needed to know about herself and Flynn when the time came. What she told him about it was her choice, not his.
He just had to keep trusting her. For once in his life, something was actually just that simple.
He grinned and snapped a photo of Flynn to send to Ricky later. Just because he had trust didn't mean a little blackmail was out of order.
